


want to rouse the old testament in me

by Anonymous



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Branding, Dark Alana Bloom, Gen, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Whump, Humiliation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Prisoner Hannibal Lecter, Psychological Torture, Stabbing, Stitches, Torture, Whipping, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which Hannibal gets anything but a regular prison experience.
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26
Collections: Anonymous





	1. mark of cain

**Author's Note:**

> i.... um? yes. me and a dear friend of mine have a roleplay thing where we're jsut making hannibal suffer in prison, and at first both chilton and alana were into it (albeit with alana being the more... involved of the two) but we lost track of that a little in favor of Reluctant Caretaker chilton, which will appear in a few chapters.
> 
> this isn't very much a linear fic as it is a collection of Whump Moments, but it does still have a storyline that i hope can be read somewhat. of course, blanket warning for gratuitous violence against our favorite cannibal, and he will be a bit broken by the end of this. i'll try to deepen on the warnings on each chapter just so you know what you're in for and you can skip it if that's not your thing.
> 
> also, i put this on anon because i really don't want my friends to know i live like this.
> 
> enjoy, maybe, if you're the kind of person to be into this, i dunno.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chilton oversees Hannibal being branded with his moniker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TWs:** Branding.

Hannibal had hoped for a normal prison experience, even with an ex and a man who he nearly caused the death of multiple times in charge of his stay, but clearly he wasn't going to get what he wanted.

He lets out a sigh and stares at the wall as the guard in front of him prepares the branding iron. He can see Chilton outside of his cell, watching the proceeding with hunger in his eyes. For revenge, for something. He's wearing his makeup, sure, all that makes him seem unaffected by Miriam Lass shooting him, but he knows better: he can't see in one eye, all because of him. He doesn't blame him for wishing for some sort of reckoning, just like he couldn't blame Will for it. This time he had little interest in seeing it, though, but he had to give himself up after Will told him to leave. That's how it works out.

"Would you like to know what it says, Dr. Lecter?" Chilton asks him as the guard is done with the iron, brandishing it over Hannibal's hip, waiting for a signal, an order.

"I am rather curious about that, yes," he replies, smiling at him with all the smugness in the world.

Chilton fixes him with a hard glare, but it doesn't deter him in the least. "The Chesapeake Ripper." Like always, he flounders, going somewhere in between indifferent and disgusted. He's always had a hard time dealing with and hiding his emotions. "It's simple, I suppose." He clears his throat, puts more vitriol into his voice. More anger, the righteous kind. "And it's not like you should expect to leave this place—never—but it will server as a reminder if you ever try to run from who you are." He huffs, content with his speech, and quietly corrects: "From _what_ you are."

He nods at that, rolls it around in his head. He already has a brand in his back, burning-hot, from the Verger estate. He got the pig's treatment then and he will get it again now. "That _is_ simple," he agrees. "I appreciate its lack of pretense, Frederick, albeit I believe the wordiness of it will cause a tad more pain than I'd prefer."

Chilton huffs at that. "The media should've considered that before giving you such a name, then. Perhaps if you hadn't killed around Chesapeake..." He lets the sentence hang in the air and turns to face the guard, giving him a sharp nod. "Proceed."

Hannibal grits his teeth and looks up at the ceiling. He resists the urge to cry out when the guard presses the branding iron, burning hot, against the tender skin of his hip. He'd already gotten branded once, he could do this again, but the pain pulls at him and makes him feel like crying out. Surely if he reacted to it, Chilton would feel some sort of compassion—unlike Cordell, who no matter what tricks he pulled, could not be swayed in any shape or form. Chilton is weaker than his captor back then, that is for sure.

He lets himself let out the pain he feels. He yelps out as the guard digs it in, pushes the iron against his hip, and letting himself feel is a bit exhilarating on its own. He whimpers out and tears slide down his cheeks at will, shaking lightly as he's branded with the name the public gave him, the name he will carry on with him for the rest of his life.

He doesn't really manage to turn to look at Chilton, but his brows raise toward his hairline, his mouth open slightly from the shock. He clears his throat, smiles at him. "Did you react the first time this way, I wonder?"

He pants out in pain and shakes his head. "This iron is a lot... a lot hotter than the one at Muskrat Farm," he attempts to excuse himself, albeit it's around the same amount of pain. Perhaps a bit more on this end, considering there are more nerve endings around the hips than there are in one's back.

The guard finally finishes and pulls the branding iron off his skin. Those three obvious words sit in his hip, bright angry red: _The Chesapeake Ripper_. Chilton stares at this development for a long moment, at the brand and at the way Hannibal withers in pain. It's like he's watching a classmate in high school dissect a frog, staring at its entrails. The guard sets the iron aside and grabs a length of cellophane, wrapping it around Hannibal's frame as tight as possible.

"To keep the oxygen out, I assume?" Hannibal says, voice unsteady with pain and making no effort to hide it.

"Yes," Chilton replies. "We don't want it fading any time soon."

"Of course." He smiles at him as he slowly recenters himself. "You've thought of everything, Frederick."

"Oh, you can't give me much of the credit," he says dismissively. "Dr. Bloom had most of a hand in the planning. As I am sure you know, she is fond of Old Testament punishments." He steps closer to the glass, watches him, holds his gaze. "I am quite curious to see how far the Ripper can be pushed until he breaks."

He considers that for a long moment. Alana's taken a turn for the worse, it seems, after killing Mason. The thrill of doing bad things to bad people feeling good must have gotten to her, and now she plans to take it out on him. He can't exactly blame her, with all he did to make sure she would be blind before that fateful night at his kitchen. 

"And _I_ am quite curious to see what dear Alana has implemented onto her... Old Testament revenge style of punishment."

Chilton looks at him and steps back before breaking off the eye contact. "You will see very soon, Dr. Lecter, what she has in store for you."

Without any other comment, he leaves him alone in his cell, and the guard finishes wrapping the cellophane around his frame. He helps him to his jumpsuit and leaves to stand outside his cell afterward.

Hannibal feels his skin pulse beneath the jumpsuit, the way he's marked for life with what he is and what he's done. Of course, it has always been this way: there is now just a physical reminder of all that got him to where he is. He goes over and settles in his cot, looks at the ceiling.

He can only hope Alana brings with her her very worst.


	2. will graham's reckoning, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana and Chilton invite Will to come see Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TWs** : Not really any? Psychological torment, a bit.
> 
> Separating Will's involvement in the whump in two chapters. I _promise_ he won't be horrible to Hannibal after these two chapters (and also won't appear much until the post-prison parts), but he's searching for a little bit of reckoning and truly who can blame him?
> 
> Enjoy, you weird, weird people.

A week afterward, Hannibal hears an extra set of footsteps coming toward his cell. He straightens up, expecting to see Jack along with Alana and Chilton, maybe—instead he's face to face with Will, who he hasn't seen since his trial. He sucks in a breath, eyes widening a modicum before he regains his composure.

Will is as gorgeous as ever, but there's something off about his appearance. He stares at him, at his ironed clothes and his brushed hair. He looks more comfortable in his own skin than ever, even as his forehead is lined with that scar. He's marked for everyone to see, what Hannibal did to him. And then Hannibal sees exactly what felt wrong—the ring around Will's finger. He stands up. It's clear as day that it's a wedding band. Something about it makes him sick.

"Will," he says. "I didn't expect to see you here so soon. I thought you didn't want to see me anymore."

He swallows, looks away. "I... didn't," he says slowly. "Alana and Frederick requested I be here."

He tilts his head at that. "What for?"

"We thought it'd be an important step for you to see Will, and how happy he is without you involved in his life," Alana explains. "How the hooks you dug into him weren't as permanent as you thought. He's shaken them off by now."

"I... see," he says slowly, savoring the words in his mouth. 

"I'm happier now, Dr. Lecter," Will says, "than I ever was."

"Happiness, achieved without your manipulation," Alana comments. "How sad. You put so much work in, didn't you?"

Hannibal puts his hand on the glass pane. He can see Will's hands twitch slightly with the need to mirror him, but he doesn't go through with it. Would tamper with Alana's plans of torment, perhaps. "You do not have to say these words because they've put you up to them, Will. If you are not happy in regular life, you know I will be able to tell."

"My apprehension is not because I am unhappy, Dr. Lecter," he says, voice biting and yet strained. "I have a wife. I have a son. I am happy." It sounds a bit like he's reassuring himself as he grits his teeth and lets out a breath.

He tilts his head at that. "I assume he is not biological," he replies. "A stepson from her previous relationship, if I had to guess." He smiles lightly. "You wouldn't dare attempt at a biological offspring. Too afraid to pass on _those_ genes, are you not?"

"He's my son," he nearly growls. "As far as Mo—my wife and I are concerned, he's just as much as mine." He sighs, realizing how he's confirmed Hannibal's question. "I'm alright with it. The lack of... of biology."

Hannibal hums. "Oh, her name is Molly? How quaint. Just how average is she, Will? How average is your life with her? Are you enjoying it, pretending to be normal? Pretending that we are not just alike, that my person suit is just like your own?" He looks at him, looks through him. "You didn't come here because they asked you to. You came here to look at me. Just to get the old scent again. Why don't you smell yourself?"

Will recoils, and Alana then steps in. "Enough, Hannibal," she snaps, voice full of poison. " _Quite_ enough."

He sighs. "No, it's— fine," he says softly. He almost starts speaking again, he can see it in his eyes, but Hannibal interrupts by immediately ducking his head, shutting up. He blinks. "Since when does he... since when does he do that? Just... submitting? What did you two do to him?"

Alana tilts her head and chuckles. "Hannibal, would you like to take off your jumpsuit?"

"Huh?" Will breathes out, looking at her and then at Chilton, who has been mostly quiet, watching the scene unfold in front of him curiously.

"Of course, Dr. Bloom," Hannibal says, voice ever so slightly strained as he takes off his jumpsuit so it pools down his ankles. Less importantly, he has boxer briefs on, which Will's eyes nearly ignore in favor of staring at the large brand on his hip. They've taken the cellophane now, the words having little chance to disappear. _The Chesapeake Ripper,_ it reads in bright, red, angry letters.

"Jesus," Will mumbles quietly. "That's... um, fitting, I guess." He stares openly, transfixed on the wound, on the way Hannibal is marked and branded with two different things. As cattle and as a murderer. "Chilton's idea?"

"It was Dr. Bloom's, actually," Chilton speaks up, finally. "But I did carry it out."

Hannibal sucks in a breath. "I did not expect this out of my prison experience, I must say," he says. "But I am sure I will grow accustomed to it."

Will tilts his head at him and he smiles, in that curious, dark way he smiled what feels like ages ago. "It suits you," he comments, voice laced with sarcasm. He turns to Alana—he must be able to tell that she's the mastermind behind all of this. "What else have you planned?"

Hannibal's stomach drops at that. Out of all things, he didn't want Will to be involved in it. He hoped he wouldn't be, that he'd never catch wind to it. That one day he'd escape and he would tell him little anecdotes about the torture infringed upon him and that they'd kill Alana together. But so it seems life doesn't go as planned.

"You'd like to be in on it?" Alana asks, looking at him, lips curling into an easy, smug grin. "I'm sure we could create something—"

"Old Testament," Will finishes for her. "Of course."

Hannibal sucks in a breath. "Could I... could I put my jumpsuit back on?"

Will turns to him and with all the confidence, dominance even, in the world, says: "Yes." A pause that stretches on forever as he watches Hannibal put his jumpsuit back on. It's strangely intimate. "Could I come back tomorrow?" he asks Alana. "I'd like to bring something with me next time."

Her grin widens. "Of course. I'll walk you out."

Hannibal can't quite shake the notion that everything will only get worse. And of course, it is very likely that this feeling is completely right.


	3. will graham's reckoning, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes back to the BSHCI wanting to leave Hannibal with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry it's been a while.
> 
>  **TWs:** Stabbing, medical malpractice.

Will comes back with something in his pocket. Hannibal resists the urge to joke when he sees him— _Is that a knife in your pocket or...?_

"Are you sure we should let him in?" Chilton hisses-slash-whispers to Alana. "This could be a really bad idea. Hannibal could just rip his throat out."

"He won't," Alana says, with all the certainty in the world. A warranted certainty, all things considered. "Guard, open the cell door."

Hannibal considers escaping, for a moment, as the guard opens it. He considers throwing himself past the guard and past Will. But he knows he wouldn't make it too far. It's not worth it. He watches as Will walks into his cell. How they're there, able to touch each other.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter," he says slowly. He can see his wedding ring; the faint scar along his forehead; the way he moves his shoulders from being shot in both of them. He's just as marked as Hannibal is, but in ways that hurt more than hot brand irons. "I've brought something with me for my visit."

"I imagined so. What is it?"

Will steps forward. Every step brings him closer, inches the space between them. It feels like he's waiting for a bomb to detonate—it's only a matter of time before it all stops being so sugary sweet. "I was thinking that," he starts, "it may be interesting if after this meeting..." And then, oh God, he cups his cheek in his hand. He sucks in a breath, feeling like the air has been knocked out of him, and his eyes widen slightly. "I left you with a smile."

He knows what's coming. He knows that is, in fact, a knife in his pocket, and that he will pull it out and gut him just like he gutted him. The idea isn't too repellant, really—he'd love to match with Will. But he's like the leading girl in a romance, the way he will take none of thse hints: he wants to be dumb, for just a moment. He wants to follow in, smile. He's blushing now, warmth spreading across his face.

Will stares hard at him, like he's critiquing a statue, as he takes him in, grabs at his cheek all too tenderly. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. It feels as though he is going to kiss him, even though he isn't. He slides a hand up his side to rest on his flank. They're too close, all too close. He takes in every detail of Will's face. The shape of his chin, the curls carefully brushed out of his forehead, his deep blue eyes he would drown in without a second's worth of hesitance. He knows what's coming so he relishes the moment before the storm, takes it in as he holds him just like he held him all that time ago.

They're too close. Hannibal feels something pool in his belly, a hot flash of arousal, and Will notices. His lips curl into a smug smile and he tilts his head before he says, "Bad timing, huh?"

He doesn't see the knife, but he feels it. He cries out at the sensation, knees nearly buckling when it pushes into his soft flesh with ease. He's never been stabbed before, and the pain sears through his body as Will holds him up, muscles flexing underneath his shirt at the effort.

"Will," he chokes out, clinging onto him, nails digging at his button-up.

"How does it feel?" he asks. His voice is filled with righteous anger, a flaming sword. Angelic. He clutches the back of his head and he runs his fingers through his overgrown hair, works at them to hold him in place as he moves the knife to mark him with a smile. Just like he did with him. "Does it burn? Does it feel like your lungs are on fire?" It does—Hannibal feels like he can't breathe, and yet he's breathing. "It did when you stabbed me. Are you lightheaded yet? You will be." Anger and spite run through his words like venom, with the way he spits them out methodically, like he has prepared this speech. "We _match_ now."

He gets lightheaded after a few seconds. He sucks in a breath and whimpers, tears prickling at his eyes. But he can't cry. He shakes his head pathetically, every motion hurting. "Please," he breathes out. "Will. I-I... I..." The dam breaks and he lets out a sob, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Will grunts softly. "How does it _feel_ , Dr. Lecter?" he snaps. "I want to know if—" His voice loses its edge little by little with every word. "I want to know if you feel as I did. How badly does it hurt? Or is the pain gone now? The endorphins, have they kicked in? Are you at peace now, Hannibal?" His first name nearly shakes him out of it, and he lets out another sob. "Wade into the quiet of the stream," he says, bravado seeping back into his voice.

"Hurts still," he whimpers. He feels all sorts of pathetic. "I can't—Will, I..." He slumps against him, dizzy as blood stains his jumpsuit completely. Will can't hold him up for longer, and they both go tumbling down to the floor. He can't get up, though, and he holds onto the stab wound as Will stumbles up to be seated.

"Alana," he calls out. He rolls Hannibal onto his back too gently, and stares at him. Hannibal stares back, wide-eyed. There's gentleness in Will's eyes, some sort of affection. Or he may be hallucinating. "Call—call a doctor, something, I'm done." He gets to his feet and stumbles out of the cell, his button-up bloodied completely. "He's got his smile."

Alana calls the prison's emergency doctor and Will slowly sits down outside the cell. As Hannibal gets taken out on a stretcher, he hears Will say, "Wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be" to no one. He passes out shortly after.

He wakes up to all sorts of machines being connected to him. He lets out a sigh and looks around him, at the bandages covering his abdomen completely. Is this what Will went through, he wonders. Is this what he dealt with in the aftermath of that fateful night? Probably. He moves and pain fills him up. There's no one there to wait for him, no one to hand him a glass of water. At least Will must've had those amenities.

He lets out a shaky sigh and closes his eyes.

It's only months later, after recovery, that he discovers they stitched up the wound wrong during surgery. It's not hard math to know Alana asked them to do so. Standing up suddenly hurts, stretching even more so. The ghost of Will's stab will haunt him more than the ghost of his stabbing will haunt Will, because of him being stitched just fine. 

It's alright, he supposes—he gets what he deserves.


End file.
